Mother's Day

The day that Leslie was accepted for graduate school, she was given a fellowship that, once offered, was non-transferable.  The next day, we found out she was pregnant with Caroline.  Soon after, we sat down with the then-chair of the Evolutionary Biology program at the University of Chicago and informed him, with trepidation, about this development.

He lit up with a smile and said, "we're biologists - this is what's supposed to happen!  This is good!"

Fortunately, the fellowship (and graduate school) could be deferred a year, and what happened the following November - Caroline - and again four Novembers later - Emily - was indeed very, very good.

I'm not sure that anyone is a "natural parent"; surely, we all look at this tiny thing in our arms and think, "shouldn't you need a license before getting one of these" or perhaps, "it's going OK so far, but I have no idea how to deal with a six-month-old" (year-old…two-year-old…schoolchild…teen…and so on).


Leslie came as close as possible, though.  At the very least, as with everything in her life, she was a voracious parent (not to be confused with the "attachment parent" currently sparking uproar from the cover of "Time").  Beyond her own beliefs, she surrounded herself with other capable and creative parents, and eagerly modeled from those whose approach she admired, and she read parenting books but tweezed apart the brilliance from the bullshit.

Mostly, though, her analytical eye recognized when something wasn't right, her logical mind parsed what the roots might be, and her loving heart guided her response.  When the girls struggled, she found them the help they needed, and it is fully to her credit (plus their understanding, determination and resilience) that they became the strong, thoughtful and compassionate young women they are today.

 
I was traveling at the time.

I don't say this flippantly, or to fish for compliments.  One of my few regrets is the number of the kids' events I missed because of my work, but even so, the mother's eye is unique and irreplaceable.  Timothy Egan, in a blog for the New York Times today, captures the essence of losing a mother, and the gaps I can't fill:

…[you] lose the true keeper of your memories, your triumphs, your losses. Your mother is a scrapbook for all your enthusiasms. She is the one who validates and the one who shames, and when she’s gone, you are alone in a terrible way.

When Leslie began teaching, her mothering experience was a large part of her qualification.  Even as she gained more knowledge about learning and development, the brain and emotions, she never stopped using her mother's eye and heart in figuring out what a student needed.  Since she died, so many of the comments from parents of former students noted how she saw their individuality and their best selves shining out from beneath whatever challenges they had.

I miss Leslie terribly today - Mother's Day - though it helps that I'm spending the day with my mother.  Emily and Caroline may be mostly grown, but that doesn't mean they need a mother any less, today or into the future (including when, perhaps, they become mothers themselves).

Colorblind and taste-challenged, I lack the qualities even for the superficial - they'll need to take girlfriends along when they need to "Say Yes to the Dress" (a guilty pleasure they introduced me to and, arguably, one where the bar for quality mothering is pretty darn low).

Fortunately, I paid enough attention that I have a reserve of Leslie's wisdom to call on as needed, for less-sartorial, more substantive counseling.  Even more, the girls and I are blessed to have loving surrogates - friends and family - ready and willing to lend a hand, an eye, an ear, a shoulder.  I've never been so thankful for the village it takes to raise a child…or even a young adult.

You never outgrow needing Mom.